


A merchant and the tollman

by Tikor



Category: Exalted
Genre: Fanfiction, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6821065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tikor/pseuds/Tikor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Exalt is living the quiet life of a merchant when she is accosted by an unofficial tollman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A merchant and the tollman

"Whoa there. There's a toll for travelling this road."  
The horse of the wagon stops obediently. She has been hauling their well-loaded burden since just after dawn and even a beast born and bred for such a task welcomes a break when the Sun's chariot is high in the sky she hears the signal. Even when the signal does not come from her master.  
The figure sitting atop the wagon with the reins in her hands squints at the unofficial tollman in the bright light of the Daystar. She nods minutely. "Yes, I had heard as much. What's your fee?"  
This brings a smile to the tollman's face, mostly relief. "A dinar and an eighth of goods or coin for one cart, two riders."  
Another minute nod from the woman at the reigns. She appears to think it over. "I can see you've thought this through, to have variable rates on the number of carts and personages. But I ask you, how much do you think my entire cart is worth?"  
The tollman's smile vanishes and is replaced by a much-practiced sneer. His fingers twitch by his side, likely readying a hidden weapon. "I'm not asking for your whole cart, I'm asking for a dinar and an eighth."  
"My whole cart has an obol's worth of goods, mainly finished ironworks such as horseshoes and hinges. On which I can make a dinar or two in profit after buying them for five dinars in Chairiscuro, another dinar spent on the horse's feed and wagon's maintenance amortizing the costs of replacements, and a dinar for the upkeep of myself and my apprentice here. Assuming of course no other merchant has serviced the small villages in this area recently with similar goods to make haggling more difficult than usual." She pauses briefly while the tollman's eyes describe the positions of his crew. "So you're asking me to give up a sum similar to the projected profit of my venture with your toll. Now tell me, if I do so, and if you were me, would you travel this way again?"  
The tollman is confused by the double hypothetical. "What?"  
"What merchant would give nearly all of her profit away twice?"  
The tollman thinks he has the answer "No merchant worth the name."  
"Imagine if I go to the next village and say "a tollman asked over a dinar's toll for a single cart and two passengers". Most folks will use that news to plan a different route. Now imagine if I said "I gave an eighth to a beggar on the road" or better yet "no one troubled me at all on the southward road.""  
"I'm no beggar!"  
"My apologies, dear tollman. I meant no offence. But you could see how if I told others you were a thing that you are not, they would still take this road, and bring their goods by your camp." She looks the small man over, he is underfed and unwashed by city standards, but by desert custom looks recently sand-washed. "We can both agree the Khan's men will not be out here to chase you away anytime soon. You're a young man who has chosen a profession of banditry, a choice that leaves few honest paths open. You'll need to keep traffic along this road robust or you'll starve sooner or later, no matter how good a desert man you might be. Now tell me, if I give you an eighth, can I be on my way and tell the next folks about the kind beggar I met on the road?"  
"An eighth is a dinar short of what I asked - I, I mean what the toll is!"  
"A well traveled road isn't nearly as lucrative as a barren one."  
The tollman seems crestfallen and rageful at the same time, like he is inflating and deflating at once. Deflation wins. "Drop the eighth in the road, and keep moving."  
Nodding to her apprentice, the young girl rustles in a sack on the wagon and takes out a sliver of a dinar. She tosses it out of the wagon and into the sandy soil of the dirt road. A snap of the reigns ends the horse's break, and the mare hauls the wagon out of sight of the tollman.  
The apprentice looks at her mentor and asks "I've seen you kill ten men at once, all bigger'an him. Why didn't you do the same to him?"  
"He had no real intention of harming us. He's new at this. I decided to give him some advice. He wasn't alone and I didn't know how many others were waiting nearby."  
"But you still had to pay him. And he'll rob other people."  
"Negotiating is about knowing what you gain by staying at the table and what it will cost to walk away and the risks involved in both. You've seen me pay people to keep quiet before haven't you?"  
"Yeah, about your powers, like when you get all glowy."  
"I think about it like I paid him to tell a story about being a successful bandit, for that's surely how he'll tell it, instead of his mates telling about the demon in merchant's clothes that killed their best friend. And I didn't have to get coated in sand or blood or both."  
"I hate sand."  
"You may not like it, but to be a merchant you have to see the value it has for others. Today, not killing a man was worth an eighth to me."  



End file.
